Rom. Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. Mer. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness! [wits fail. Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose? Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. [goose?

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Rom. I stretch it out for that word-broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature for this drivelling love is like a great natural, than runs lolling up and down to hide his banble in a hole. Ben. Stop there, stop there. [the hair. Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale: and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Rom. Here's goodly geer!

Enter Nurse and PETER.

Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail!

Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock. Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon?

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den?

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.

Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself to mar.

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said;-For himself to mar, quoth'a ?-Gentlemen, oan any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for 'fault of a worse.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, 'faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse. If you be be, sir, I desire some confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten spie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar,

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,

Nurse. Good heart! and, i'faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir-that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to This afternoon; [shrift And there she shall, at friar Laurence' cell Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. Rom. Go to; I say, you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. [wall: Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbeyWithin this hour my man shall be with thee; And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair: Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell!-Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. Farewell!-Commend me to thy mistress. Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee!-Hark you, sir.

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say

Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady-Lord, lord!-when 'twas a little prating thing,-0.-there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Capulet's Garden.
Enter JULIET.

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse;

In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance, she cannot meet him :-that's not so.—
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours.-yet she is not come.
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me :

But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

Enter Nurse and PETER.

O God, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse,-O`lord! why look'st thou sad?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.

;

Nurse. i am aweary, give me leave a while;Fy, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy [speak. Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ;-good, good nurse, Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?

news:

Do you not see, that I am out of breath?
Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast

breath

To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,-though they be not to be talked ou, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.-Go thy ways, wench; serve God:-What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before: What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head

have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o' t' other side,-O, my back, my back!-
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!

Jul. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well: Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?

Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,

Jul. Where is my mother?-why, she is withir Where should she be? How oddly thon reply's! Your love says like an honest gentleman,— Where is your mother? Nurse. O, God's lady dear! Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Jul. Here's such a coil;-Come, what s Romeo? [day!

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shritte Jul. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurace There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Hie you to church; I must another way, Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark: I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. Jul. Hie to high fortune!-honest nurse, fire well. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO. Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest box? Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite : Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so, Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter JULIET. Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: Here comes the lady ;-O, so light a foot A lover may bestride the gossamers, That idle in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

both.

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for [mac Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks t Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath

This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness, that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in word

Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their word
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
Fri. Come, come with me, and we will ma
short work;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone.
Till holy church incorporate two in one.

[Exem

ACT III.

SCENE I-A public Place.

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servant
Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire;
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl;
For now, these hot days, is the mid blood stirrin
Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, the

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;

Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure:-All this-uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly
bow'd,-

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, [tongue,
Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than his
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly:
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, Affection makes him false, he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life: I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;

His fault concludes but, what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.

Prin.
And, for that offence,
Immediately we do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hates' proceeding,
My blood, for your rude brawls, doth lie a bleeding;

But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine:
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses,
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Room in Capulet's House. Enter JULIET.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' mansion; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately.Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! That run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen!— Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind,* It best agrees with night.-Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,

And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strangelove, grown bold,
Think true love acted, simple modesty.
Come, night!-Come, Romeo! come, thou day in
night!

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.-
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd
night,

Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,
Take him, and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.-
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: So tedious is this day,
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child, that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my sure,

Enter Nurse, with cords.

Nurse.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.-
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there! the
That Romeo bade thee fetch?
[cords,
Ay, ay, the cords.
(Throws them down.)
Jul. Ah me! what news? why dost thou wing
thy hands?
[dead!
Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's
We are undone, lady, we are undone !-
Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse.
Romeo cas,
Though heaven cannot :-O Romeo, Romeo!-
Who ever would have thought it?-Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment ma

thus?

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I,
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an I;
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I.
If he be slain, say-I; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe.

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,—
God save the mark!-here on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood,
All in gore blood;-I swooned at the sight.
Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, bre

at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!

Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier!
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?— Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banish'd; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest shew! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain!—

=0, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell,
=When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!

Nurse.

There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.-

Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitæ :—
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul.

Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame : Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy

name,

When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus-
band:

All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished;
That-banished, that one word-banished,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,-
Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead,
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished,-to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead:-Romeo is banished,-
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe
sound.-

Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine
shall be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords:-Poor ropes, you are beguil'd,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed:
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you:-I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.

Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO. Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful

man;

Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.

[doom?

Bom, Father, what news? what is the prince's

What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Fri.

Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death: For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say-banishment. Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death:-then banishment Is death mis-term'd calling death-banishment, Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,

Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not.-More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But-banished-to kill me; banished?

O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and a friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word-banishment?

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.

Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished?-hang up philosophy? Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom; It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. Fri. O, then I see, that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear
thy hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy-
self.
(Knocking within.)
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick
groans,

Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

(Knocking.)